


flying is like

by ellenm (quasiradiant)



Category: Birds of Prey (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:29:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quasiradiant/pseuds/ellenm





	flying is like

The moon sags shivering over a snow-covered New Gotham and the clock tick-tocks behind her. Barbara loves the glint of moonlight off the snow, the bright flare of her breath in the cold night air, the tingling of her bare cheeks and bare arms.

Barbara knows Helena's there, behind her, watching. Barbara tilts her head, exposes the long line of her neck, doesn't say anything aloud. Thinks, come on Helena.

Helena's touch on her neck is soft, a whisper of calloused fingers and the edges of sharpened nails. The kind of touch that spreads sharp heat through Barbara's chest, even after all this time. She says, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Helena says. Her fingers trace the curve of Barbara's ear. “Got a death wish? It's twenty below out here.”

“I just,” Barbara starts, but then Helena's fingernails are skimming the skin just above the line of Barbara's shirt collar and Barbara has to start again, “I just like the wind. It reminds me of, of,” but she doesn't finish.

“Of flying,” Helena says, because Barbara's silences have never scared her.

Barbara doesn't say anything, just looks up into the star-filled sky. If she thinks hard enough, she can almost remember how it felt to push off into cold nights like this one, skin screaming in icy pain, hair and cape whipping noisily and then – and then – falling, flying smooth like a needle through the winter.

Barbara closes her eyes just for a second and when she opens them, Helena's there in front of her, cheeks bright and pink and lips bitten red. One hand on the chair's arm rest, one hand at the top button of Barbara's shirt.

“I have an idea.” Helena's voice drops a note or two and her pupils narrow just a fraction. Barbara knows the look, knows the smell of Helena's skin, something like musk and something else, fierce and untamed.

“Helena,” Barbara starts, but Helena just smiles, teeth bared. Helena flicks open the first button, then the second and then the third. Keeps going until Barbara's shirt is pushed back off her shoulders and all that's between her and New Gotham's prying eyes is a filmy tank top.

“Helena,” Barbara says again, but Helena's never been one to take warnings very seriously.

“Barbara, relax,” Helena says. Leans towards Barbara, whispers in Barbara's ear, “I've got everything under control.” And then its her mouth on Barbara's neck, tongue tracing the tendon down from Barbara's ear to her bared shoulder. Fingertips pushing Barbara's tank top up, drawing a hot line up Barbara's stomach.

Helena pulls back, just for a second, just long enough for a feral little smile and then it's one of those kisses that arches Barbara's back and sends a little shot of electricity down her spine to puddle in her stomach. And it's Helena's hands slipping up across Barbara's tensed abs, cupping Barbara's breasts, it's Helena's caught breath, the way Helena's growl starts deep in Helena's chest.

“Flying yet?” Helena asks in a dark whisper, lips wet and eyes glinting gold.

“Almost,” Barbara says, pulling Helena back to her, “almost.” And then, the way it always is, always should be, it's just New Gotham, the dark of night, and Helena.


End file.
